


IDFC

by ronanlynchisneversleepingagain



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, frank discussion of obscene amounts of money, kent 'what do you mean an assist isn't a romantic gesture' parson, not quite healthy communication, trade anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-20 17:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronanlynchisneversleepingagain/pseuds/ronanlynchisneversleepingagain
Summary: Kent Parson's romantic gestures need a lot of work, but are still pretty effective after all.





	IDFC

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SalazarTipton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazarTipton/gifts).



> This is written for SalazarTipton for Swawesome Santa! 
> 
>  
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> _You’ve said you’re going to leave, but I don’t want you to go and if I don’t say something now…_  
>  **GOOD TO KNOW:**
> 
> Every year between Dec 18th and Dec 27th, the NHL does what is called the "Holiday Trade Freeze" which means for the duration of the week around Christmas, teams agree that they will not trade, call up and send down any players and their rosters are, in effect, frozen. This fic plays within that framework a bit, although contract negotiations might not be perfectly realistic, but hey! It's a fic! :)

_I'm only a fool for you_  
_And maybe you're too good for me_  
_I'm only a fool for you_  
_But I don't fucking care, at all_

**IDFC - blackbear**

 

* * *

**DECEMBER 10TH**

****  


“They asked me for my no-trade list yesterday,” Troy said, as casual as anything, as they lay in a too-small hotel bed together, naked limbs still tangled together. When Kent looked over at him, Troy wasn’t looking back but was staring up at the ceiling instead, his face blank.

“What? Why?” Kent asked.

Troy finally looked up but only to give him a tired glance.

“Exploring their options, I guess,” Troy said.

Kent scowled and rolled over to his side, cradling his head in one hand as he looked down at Troy, forcing him to make eye contact by hovering over him. Troy shoved him lightly and Kent huffed but didn’t move.

“What did you tell them?” he asked instead.

“That I would have it to them by tomorrow,” Troy said.

“Not what I meant, idiot,” Kent said.

“What else am I supposed to say, Parse?”

Troy rolled out of bed and sat on the edge of the mattress. He scratched his head, ruffling his hair before swiping his abandoned boxers from the floor and pulling them on. Kent watched silently as he gathered the rest of his clothes from the floor and pulled them on.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Kent asked.

Troy gave him an exasperated look.

“I’m telling you right now, dumbass.”

“You said they asked yesterday.”

Troy turned his back to Kent and stood in front of the closet door mirrors to button his shirt, straightening it out as he tucked it in and smoothed down the collar. He frowned at himself and then shrugged before finally answering Kent’s accusation.

“What? Was I supposed to tell you before the game tonight? I waited until after so you could have three days to freak out about it and you’d have your head screwed back on straight by the time the Schooners are in town on Tuesday.”

“Shit,” Kent grumbled and fell back onto the bed.

“Parser, come on, you had to know this was coming.”

“How?”

Troy shook his head in disbelief.

“What the fuck is it like to live in your world, man?” he said. “Jesus.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it,” Troy said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No, tell me.”

Troy sighed and leaned against the wall, giving Kent a heavy look.

“I have one point in the past ten games, Parser,” he said finally. “And it’s not like I was doing great before this dry spell either.”

“Okay,” Kent said, not really understanding the point. “Dry spells happen.”

“Jesus, Parser, not all of us go to sleep at night secure in the knowledge that we’ll play for the same team our entire careers,” Troy said. “I hit free agency this summer and they haven’t so much as made noise about re-signing me. I’ve known a trade was probably coming for months.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Kent asked.

Troy rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t think I needed to since the writing was on the wall,” he said. “I figured…”

“What?”

“I mean, isn’t that why _this_ —” Troy gestured between the two of them with a finger, “is even happening? I’m leaving, right, so big deal if we hook up while I’m still here.”

“I never said that,” Kent said, frowning. He finally pulled himself up to sitting and looked for his own boxers, but they were nowhere in sight. He grabbed his wrinkled dress pants instead and pulled them on.

“You didn’t need to,” Troy said.

“I never — I didn’t think —” Kent said.

“Yeah, well.” Troy said, cutting him off and pushing himself off the wall he was leaning on. He shrugged at Kent. “Now you know.”

Before Kent could think of anything else to say, Troy turned and left, pulling the door shut firmly behind him and leaving Kent standing dumbstruck in the middle of the room. He sank back onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair, yanking it at the roots.

“Shit,” he hissed to the empty room. “ _Shit_.”

He grabbed the glass from the bedside table and threw it forcefully at the wall where it shattered with a satisfying crunch. The water that had been left in it made a dark spot on the wall as it dripped down and he watched it until dried, then he made himself pick up the pieces of glass on the floor, using a piece of paper to carefully sweep them into the small can under the desk.

—

Kent usually made it a habit not to read too much of the local media. The Vegas market was still in its infancy and the journalists were full of too-hot takes and misinformation, but on the flight home the next morning, he pulled up Twitter on his iPad and read for hours while Scrappy snored next to him. He couldn’t help the guilty look he tossed over his shoulder the whole time he read headlines like “As Holiday Trade Freeze Looms, Vegas Tests Trade Waters” and “Is Vegas Tanking on Purpose to Make the Draft Lottery?”

Troy wouldn’t meet his eye when they finally disembarked the plane and instead of bumming a ride from Kent as usual, he rode home with Jonesy and left Kent looking like an idiot in the parking lot waiting for him. Scrappy had to tell him that Troy had already left or Kent would have been leaning against his car waiting for another hour probably.

Christmastime in Vegas had taken years for Kent to adjust to. No snow and temperate, clear days still seemed like the antithesis of Christmas, especially right after Kent returned from a roadie full of snow and cold. There was something particularly gloomy about an inflatable snowman in a yard full of cacti, anyways. He stopped decorating after the first year and when the other guys chirped him for not even having a tree, he blamed Kitt and they usually dropped it.

When he got home, Kitt was waiting at the door for him, curling around his feet and chattering with an indignant meow at him. He dropped his bag and picked her up, burying his face into her fur.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured as he scratched her ears and made his way to the kitchen. There was a card taped to his fridge and he let Kitt loose on the counter so he could grab it. It was from Rebecca, his neighbor, who always watched Kitt while he was gone.

 

> _Kent -_
> 
> _Kitt was perfect, as always. I left some Christmas cookies in your pantry where she can’t get to them! Invitation to join us all for Christmas dinner still stands - we’d love to have you._
> 
> __\- Rebecca_ _

 

Kent had had plans with Troy to go to one of the fancy buffets at a casino on the Strip for Christmas dinner, but he wasn’t sure if that was still happening anymore. He crumpled the note and threw it in the trash before opening up the pantry to see a large platter of brightly colored cookies shaped like mittens. No doubt Rebecca’s twins had decorated them one afternoon. Kitt howled at him from the kitchen counter and tried to stretch out to reach for the platter and he swatted her paw gently away.

“Not for you,” he said.

Kitt registered her disagreement before jumping off the counter and walking away into the living room. Kent grabbed two of the cookies before stashing them back into the pantry and following her. She was lounging across the middle of the couch and he pushed her to the side so he could sit. She chirped at him in annoyance but re-settled next to him immediately, her back pressed against his thigh. He stroked her with one hand while he polished off the cookies and reached for the remote to turn on NHL highlights.

“ _.....and of course, the Las Vegas Aces who are coming off a disappointing road trip. They lost three out of four on this trip and their one win came from a shootout against Buffalo. Certainly not the results they were hoping for in a season that has been plagued by dry spells and injuries for most of the roster. With the holiday trade freeze right around the corner, you have to wonder if they might be making some big moves within the next week or so to really shake things up._ ”

“For fuck’s sake,” Kent said and changed the channel before the other talking head could even draw his breath. He landed on some crime procedural that was being marathoned on another channel before settling in to the couch with a sigh. He took out his phone to text a thanks to Rebecca for the cookies and for watching Kitt, and then froze on the new text screen as he thought about texting Troy as well. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for several minutes as he typed and deleted several different texts before finally giving up and throwing his phone on the coffee table instead.

Kitt purred gently beside him and he pulled her into his lap.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Kent asked. “Think we can change their minds?”

She purred a little louder.

 ****  


\--

**DECEMBER 15TH**

****  


Kent played like he was on fire and the Aces rose to join him. The moment the puck hit his tape for the next week, he was looking to pass it to Troy. It paid off in seven assists in four games, most of which were on Troy’s goals. They won all four games with Kent dragging them over the line in another shootout.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Troy said to him as they found themselves alone in an elevator together several days later. They had been pulled aside after morning skate that morning to film a quick holidays message together and it was the first time that Troy had talked to him off the ice in almost a week. He had been avoiding Kent since he’d turned in his no-trade list, leaving Kent both without his usual sounding board and sexless, which made him doubly grumpy.

“What?” he asked.

“Personally drag me out of my scoring slump, come hell or high water.”

“Dunno ‘bout you, but I play on a team.”

“Kent.”

“ _Jeff_.”

“You’re being an asshole.”

“I thought I was always an asshole,” Kent said.

Troy sighed heavily and adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

“You are, but usually it comes with a side of charm that makes it tolerable,” he said.

“Sorry, I’m not in the mood to charm you today,” Kent said dryly. The elevator doors dinged as they opened into the hallway and Kent stepped out immediately, thinking that it was the end of their conversation. Troy followed after him and cleared his throat. When Kent glanced back, he had his hands in his pockets.

“I’m going out tonight to meet up with Bratton. Want to come?” he asked.

Kent looked over to him sharply.

“What?”

“Tyler Bratton,” Troy clarified, as though Kent had memory loss and had forgotten the huge blueliner from the Houston Aeros that would probably be spending the better part of that evening running him into the boards during their game.

“Why?”

Troy shrugged.

“Played together in Juniors. Thought he could show me around the city a bit,” he said.

“Why do you need to be shown around fucking Houston?” Kent asked, but before he’d even finished the question, he realized he already knew the answer. He looked over to Troy sharply and then down the already abandoned hallway. “ _Here_?”

“Already play for one expansion team,” Troy said. “Don’t see the harm in playing for another, especially since they’re doing so well.”

“Here?” Kent asked again incredulously.

“Parser,” Troy said. “You’re doing that thing again where you’re being an asshole and making me question why I tell you anything at all.”

Kent glowered, but had no comeback for that.

“I’m going to take that as a ‘no, I don’t want to come’ then,” Troy said. He took his phone out of his pocket and frowned down at it.

“I, um…” Kent said. Troy raised his eyebrows in question and Kent looked away for a moment, licking his lips. He reached up to remove his snapback so he could run a hand through his hair. When he looked up, Troy was still staring back at him. “Will you come by when you get back?”

Kent looked furtively over his shoulder, but the arena back hallways were mostly empty this time of day and the few people who were milling about were paying them no attention at all. Troy frowned at him.

“Parse…” he said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Oh,” Kent said. “Right.”

He leaned against the cold concrete wall and crossed his arms, feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Troy typed a quick text into his phone, before pocketing it and stepping a little closer. His voice was hushed when he spoke.

“We always knew there’d be an expiration date, Parser,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a big thing.”

Kent stared down at the dark wash of the concrete floor and rubbed his forehead before pushing off from the wall he was leaning on and shaking out his shoulders.

“Yeah, of course not,” Kent said. “I’ll just see you later or like, whenever, man. No big deal.”

 ****  


\--

**DECEMBER 17TH**

 

> **[ FROM: Swoops**
> 
> **TO: Kent ]**
> 
> did you say something to management?
> 
> **[FROM: Kent**
> 
> **TO: Swoops ]**
> 
> about?
> 
> did they offer you something?
> 
> **[ FROM: Swoops**
> 
> **TO: Kent ]**
> 
> i don’t need you to get involved with this, ok? just drop it.
> 
> **[FROM: Kent**
> 
> **TO: Swoops ]**
> 
> ???

—

**DECEMBER 18TH**

Two nights after Troy had dinner with Bratton, Kent watched as the bright red digits of his hotel’s bedside clock counted down the minutes to midnight. He breathed a sigh of relief when the clock hit 12:01AM and Twitter remained silent on any trades. The holiday trade freeze was officially in place for the next week, so at least Troy wasn’t going to be packing his bags before Kent could talk to him again. He hit his head against his headboard and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, he unlocked his phone to look at the last text Troy had sent him the day before. Troy had avoided him at morning skate and then hadn’t answered his door when Kent had knocked that afternoon before the game. Then, Kent had gotten delayed by a media scrum after the game and Troy had slipped out before he could corner him in the locker room.

Kent glanced at the clock again and then frowned down at the bright screen of his phone. It was so far past curfew that they would both be completely fucked if someone caught them, but…that also meant there was very little chance of Kent actually getting caught.

He slid off the bed and grabbed his snapback from the table, smoothing his hair down in a fruitless attempt to tame it before stuffing the cap on backwards. He dumped his phone and room key in the deep pocket of his shorts and slid his shoes on before padding to the door. He opened it slowly and glanced both ways down the hallway before pulling it shut behind him gently. He quickly walked away, making his way down the hallway as fast as he could until he reached Room 301 at very end of the hallway.

His palms were sweaty when he went to knock on the door and he froze before putting his knuckle to the wood. He swallowed and closed his eyes, swallowing the sudden bile in his throat. Unbidden, he thought of that night at Samwell when he’d gone to see Jack and everything had gone to hell.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. He took his hat off and twisted it in his hands. He turned to go back to his room and then turned back to Troy’s door, frowning.  He stood there for several minutes until a rustling down the hallway spooked him. He glanced down the carpeted hall but no one emerged and then, turning back to Troy’s door, he knocked three times very softly, just like they always did when sneaking into each others’ rooms.

It was several moments before the lock slid open and Troy peered out at him, rumpled but clearly awake.

“Parser?” he asked, but still opened the door wide enough for Kent to come in, glancing into the empty hallway behind Kent to see that no one was there before shutting the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Kent muttered and sat down on the bed. The TV was softly playing in the dark room and some late night host was laughing at a blonde actress as she gestured wildly with her hands. He frowned at the TV and pursed his lips. His hat was still twisting in his hands.

The bed dipped as Troy sat beside him.

“I know they offered you terms,” Kent said.

“Parse,” Troy sighed. “I’m sorry for getting angry about it, okay? It’s just that it’s my business and I don’t need you to put yourself on the line for me or anything —“

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“What?”

“Pretending that this doesn’t matter to me,” Kent said. “I care, Swoops. I fucking care what happens.”

“I’m just trying to be realistic, Parse.”

Kent crumpled his hat in his hands, gripping it so tight that his knuckles turned white.

“I want you to stay.”

Troy snorted beside Kent and Kent looked over at him to see him smiling. He ruffled Kent’s hair and pulled himself a little closer.

“Yeah, I got the message around the third or fourth assist in a week and how you suddenly are incapable of passing to anyone but me,” he said. “I gotta say, Parser, your romantic gestures need a lot of work.”

Kent grimaced.

Troy bumped his shoulder against Kent’s and reached over to gently take the hat from him and toss it onto the TV console across from them. His hand returned to Kent’s and threaded their fingers together. Kent stared down at their joined hands and took a deep breath before folding their joined hands into his chest and cradling them there with his other hand. They sat like that for a long time, with only the TV murmuring to keep them company.

“My agent thinks I can get a five million with at least five years if I hold out until June,” Troy said finally, his voice only barely above a whisper.

Kent didn’t let go of his hand, but squeezed his fingers a little tighter around Troy’s.

“Maybe,” he said, his own voice croaky and tired.

“They offered four and half million and four years,” Troy continued.

Kent sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, still holding on to Troy’s hand as though it were a lifeline. Troy didn’t try to take it back, but Kent could feel his heavy gaze on him. He stared down at the carpet instead, feeling the same bile from earlier stinging at his throat.

“We countered but haven’t heard anything back. They mentioned the possibility of a trade again too, but…you know, at least we have some breathing room because of the freeze. My agent says they’re just jerking my chain, trying to lowball me, but I don’t know. It’s been a bad season.”

Kent was quiet, letting Troy’s soft voice wash over him in waves as he took in the information. Troy kept talking for a while, but Kent stopped listening to his precise words at some point, just focused on the sound of his voice and the feeling of his fingers entwined with Kent’s.

“Kent,” Troy said softly, drawing Kent suddenly out of his almost-trance. He snapped up to look at Troy and the other man reached out and ran his thumb across Kent’s cheekbone before brushing Kent’s hair out of his face. Kent’s eyes flickered to Troy’s lips and without thinking, Kent leaned forward and kissed him. He let go of Troy’s hand so he could pull him closer instead, both hands going to frame Troy’s face.

“I want you to stay,” Kent said, barely pulling back far enough to speak, his lips still dragging against Troy’s skin as he said it. “Please stay.”

“Kent,” Troy sighed, but didn’t fight him as Kent pressed him back against the bed with more kisses and hands frantically pulling at clothes. Instead, Troy pulled him closer and kissed him hard, their lips so harsh against each other’s that Kent thought he might even taste blood.

 ****  


\--

 ****  


**DECEMBER 25TH**

Troy doesn’t mention the contract negotiations again and Kent recognizes it as a way to keep the peace, so he doesn’t bring it up either. Instead they fuck like they’re eighteen again at every available chance, both frantic and desperately tender, in hotel rooms on the road and in Kent’s condo when they’re home. Kent isn’t sure he’s ever felt anything like it. Even with Jack, he had never felt like he was going to jump out of his skin if he didn’t touch him every few hours.

By the time Christmas arrived, the Aces had extended their win streak to six games and Troy had two more goals. Kent didn’t know if it would be enough, but it felt good regardless to win and win and win. He knew the streak would end sometime, but for now, it was perfect.

Kent woke up alone on Christmas day and blinked blearily into the room as the soft yellow light of a desert morning filtered through his windows. He turned back over and buried his face in the nearest pillow, but reared back up when his face crumpled against a piece of paper instead of soft linen. He fished the note out of his sheets and took a moment to let his eyes focus on Troy’s untidy scrawl.

 

> _I’ll be back by 1. Put something nice on - you’re not going out to xmas dinner in your fucking snapback and shorts._

Kent balled up the note and threw it at the wall. Kitt, who had settled somewhere above his head, leaped after it with a small chirp. She jumped back on the bed a moment later with the paper ball successfully in mouth.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not a fucking dog, dummy?” Kent said even as he scratched her ears and cooed at her. He threw the paper ball across the room again and as soon as she leaped off the bed, he pulled himself to sitting. He yawned as he stretched and looked around the messy room.

It was almost ten by the time he made his way to the kitchen to throw breakfast together. There’s a skillet already submerged in water from whatever Troy had made himself that morning and Kent just added his pan to the pile. He took his heap of scrambled eggs to his small yard and sat down at the firepit after flicking the switch for the heat to turn on. Kitt hopped up on the chair next to him and curled into a contented ball of fluff as Kent scrolled Twitter and drank his coffee.

By the time Troy got back in the early afternoon, Kent and the cat both had migrated to the couch to watch bad Hallmark movies. Troy let himself in even though Kent had never officially told him the code to his locks and Kent lifted himself up to peer over the back of the couch as Troy stepped inside.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Kent asked. Troy didn’t answer immediately but threw  what looked to be a handful of mail on the counter before joining Kent on the couch. He lifted Kent’s socked feet up and sat down before dropping them back in his lap and throwing his head back against the couch.

“Just an errand,” Troy said.

“An errand on Christmas morning that takes hours?” Kent asked dryly.

“Had to run to my other boyfriend’s house. Make sure he wasn’t feeling too neglected,” Troy joked casually and then, as if he’d realized his slip, he froze. The word ‘boyfriend’ had never been explicit between them. In fact, it had been carefully avoided and stepped around for months since they’d started sleeping together.

Kent forced a breath out and consciously told himself to relax. He nudged Troy gently with one of his feet and Troy grabbed his foot in return, digging his fingers into the arch and massaging it none too gently. Kent flexed into the movement and relaxed a little further into the couch.

“Should I be jealous of this other boyfriend?” Kent asked softly.

“No,” Troy said and then, clearing his throat, he finally met Kent’s eyes. “No,” he repeated.

“Good,” Kent said. He sat up and scooted closer to Troy, who reluctantly let go of Kent’s feet and wrapped his arms around Kent’s middle instead, burying his face in Kent’s neck, his warm breath fanning against Kent’s bare shoulder.

“You’re not dressed,” Troy said after a minute, as if he’d only just noticed that Kent only had on sleep pants and socks, but nothing else.

“I thought if you were so concerned with my sartorial choices, you could just dress me yourself,” Kent said.

“Sartorial. That’s a big word, Parser,” Troy snarked. “You look that one up just for the chirp?”

“No,” Kent huffed. “I know big words.”

“Uh huh.” Troy mumbled, kissing along Kent’s collarbone, his mouth warm and open as it covered all of the skin that was easily available to him. Kent made a small noise of content and fell back on the couch, dragging Troy with him until Troy was laying on top of him.

“You sure you don’t want to just undress me instead?” Kent murmured, his hand drifting to squeeze Troy’s ass through his jeans. Troy groaned and shifted so he was hovering over Kent. “You might be better at it.”

“Jesus, you’re such an asshole,” Troy said, but the hand he ran through Kent’s hair was soft and tender.

“And yet you’re still here,” Kent said.

“Against my better judgement,” Troy said.

“Still,” Kent said.

“Still,” Troy agreed and leaned down to kiss Kent again before pulling away and rolling off the couch in one fluid motion.

“What the fuck?” Kent complained from his spot on the couch.

“I have something for you,” Troy said over his shoulder. He was back over at the door when he’d thrown whatever mail he’d brought in and he grabbed a single manila envelope from the pile before returning to the couch and handing it to Kent.

“What is it?” Kent asked. He frowned at the simple manila envelope, turning it over his hands.

“Your Christmas present, jackass,” he said. “Just open it.”

Kent flicked the brad open and slid a thin stack of paper out. He only had to skim a few lines before he understood it was a contract and only a few more lines after that to understand it was Troy’s new contract with the Aces.

“You signed this?” Kent asked, flipping to the last pages to see not only ‘JEFF TROY’ signed in black ink, but every member of the ownership group as well. “Seriously?”

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Troy said. “The owners all signed yesterday and Jerry had me come in this morning to do the rest of the paperwork. They’re going to release it tomorrow.”

“You’re staying,” Kent said dumbly. He turned back to the first page and started reading in earnest.

“It’s five years at $4.75 mil. We couldn’t get them to come up much on the money, but they threw in another year,” Troy said even as Kent read the terms himself. “My agent wanted to wait them out for more money, but I just thought…I mean, I wanted to take it while it was still on the table.”

“You’re staying,” Kent said, the truth of the words finally penetrating. He set the contract down on the table and blinked up at Troy who looked strangely nervous. “That’s what you were doing all morning? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Troy cracked a smile and pushed Kent shoulder playfully.

“Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise, Parser.”

Kent almost tackled him to the couch with the force of his kiss.

“Thank you,” Kent said. “Merry Christmas.”

Troy laughed and wrapped his arms around Kent, his hands running up and down the bare skin of Kent’s back.

“Merry Christmas, Kent,” Troy said.

Kent kissed him again.


End file.
